Alternate Beginnings from Endings Left Behind
by sherlockian4evr
Summary: This is a reimagining of the tarmac scene. There's no Mary and it's a bit more sentimental with what passed between Mycroft and Sherlock revealed. Plus there's johnlock so yay! Beta read by Sherlock1110.


Mycroft and Sherlock rode in silence in the back of the black sedan. It was taking them to a place that neither wanted to go, though for different reasons.

Mycroft couldn't look at his brother, so he kept his eyes cast down, staring at his hands which were folded neatly over the handle of his umbrella. That didn't stop him from seeing his brother, at least in his mind's eye. He couldn't rid himself of Sherlock's cherubic eight year old face looking up at him with tears in his eyes from some hurt. Mycroft ached to hold that little boy to his chest and never let him go. All he had ever wanted to do was protect him and at that, he had failed miserably.

For his part, Sherlock stared out the window, not really seeing the scenery as it passed by. He didn't want to think of the ordeal ahead. He'd had a small taste of it in Serbia and he thought he might just lose his mind if he let his thoughts drift in that direction. He knew Mycroft had done his best for him. With this option there was at least some small chance that he would survive and do so with his sanity intact. The fact that the odds were less than one percent couldn't be helped. He never would have survived prison whole. They both knew that.

The car pulled to a stop on the tarmac, a small private jet close by. Behind them, a second car pulled up in which rode John, who hadn't been allowed to ride with the brothers.

Mycroft got out of the car as did Sherlock who walked around the car and stood next to his brother. They still didn't look at one another.

The driver remained in the car and Mycroft noted that the wind would carry their words away from John. He turned to face Sherlock. "Brother mine, I have been forbidden to use my resources to send you aid."

Still refusing to look at him, Sherlock responded, "I am well aware of that, Mycroft."

"I am therefore doing it anyway."

At that, Sherlock turned sharply to face him. "What..."

"I have... connections outside my governmental office. Ones that, with the proper motivation..."

"Threats and cash."

Mycroft looked pained. "Yes. As I said, with the right motivation, they will provide you with anything you need. Shelter, arms, information. Even direct assistance. And I assure you, the individuals whose aid I... purchased will stay bought. There will be no higher bidder."

Sherlock looked at him, his eyes going unusually wide. "Mycroft, if you get caught..."

Mycroft straightened his tie. "Yes. Treason, I know."

Their eyes met and, for the first time in years, there was no challenge in either man's gaze. Mycroft's eyes were full of the unspoken love he had for his brother. Sherlock's stung and were red rimmed.

John had been watching them from where he stood alone, waiting by the second car. Now, he turned away, the raw emotion on both men's faces too much and far too private for him to intrude upon.

Both men hesitated, but finally Sherlock and Mycroft came together in a fierce embrace. Neither of them wanted to let go.

Mycroft fisted his hands in Sherlock's Belstaff. "You prove them wrong, baby brother. Use everything I send your way and come back home to me."

When they broke apart, Sherlock wiped at his eyes quickly and pulled himself together. "I suppose I should say goodbye to John," he said, looking down at his shoes. His heart ached at the prospect, knowing that John didn't know the true nature of his mission.

Mycroft nodded, looking off in the distance. "I'll look after him whilst you're gone. Now go."

Sherlock straightened to his full height and shoved his hands in his pockets. Looking over at John, he walked towards him and stopped just a couple of feet away. "John."

John scuffed his shoe against the tarmac, looking down as he did so, then looked up to meet Sherlock's eyes. "Sherlock."

There were so many things that Sherlock wanted to say, so many things he had kept to himself, but he knew it wouldn't be fair to speak of them now. No, revealing how he truly felt would be cruel in the extreme. He searched for other words, words which would mean as much and convey some depth of his caring, but it was difficult to find the ones he needed.

"So, this is goodbye." John, said, his voice rough with emotion. "Mycroft hasn't said. How long do you expect the mission to last?"

The question struck at Sherlock's heart. He hadn't expected it and it was obvious John didn't suspect the truth. "Six months," he said, his eyes stinging. With his chances at survival, even with his brother's help, being so slim, he wanted to say something more, to tell John this was really goodbye, that he wouldn't be coming back, but that would be too cruel. Instead, he spoke the words that had eluded him before. "John, you have been as dear as... No, you have been a brother to me."

John laughed, though his eyes glistened. "You're calling me Mycroft now?" he quipped, but he remembered how he had had to turn away to give the brothers privacy as they said their emotional goodbyes.

Sherlock smiled, though his lips trembled. "You have saved my life in so many ways, so many times. You taught me that alone doesn't protect me. You've shown me the value of sentiment. And for all these things, I am a better person. Thank you, John Watson, for being my brother in every way that matters."

John tried to hold himself back like he normally would, but the gravity of the situation, the fact that Mycroft and Sherlock had actually hugged and Sherlock's own words were too much. He launched himself at Sherlock and drew him into a hug, tears streaming down his face. "You come back. You use that big brain of yours and come back to me," he gasped out whilst holding on for dear life.

John didn't let go until one of the guards called for Sherlock from near the waiting jet. "Mr. Holmes, it's time to go."

Sherlock drank in one last look at John, then stepped back. "Goodbye, John." He turned and walked towards the jet.

John called out, "Goodbye!" then watched his best friend, the person he loved most in the world, disappear onto the aeroplane. He walked over to stand by Mycroft and they stood together, watching as it taxied down the runway and took off.

Just as they were about to leave, Mycroft's phone rang and he took the call. It was short and he soon rang off. John had to catch Mycroft as his knees buckled at whatever he had heard on the phone.

"Mycroft?"

"He's coming home. He's not going to die after all." It took a few moments, but Mycroft stood up under his own power.

"Why? What's happened?" John asked, shaking Mycroft by the arm, something he would never have done at any other time.

"Check your phone, John." Mycroft dialled his brother and walked a few paces off.

On John's phone, was an explosion of information about the return of Moriarty. Apparently he had missed a mass broadcast whilst saying goodbye to Sherlock. The whole thing didn't make sense, but he didn't care, not if it meant Sherlock was coming home, not if it meant he was safe. From the way Mycroft had reacted, Sherlock had been meant to... No he wouldn't think about that now. He would concentrate on the future. Things were going to be different. He'd wasted so much time. He wasn't going to do it anymore.

Eagerly, John and Mycroft awaited the return of the jet. When it taxied back to where they waited and the steps lowered, John moved forward a bit. He held himself back until Sherlock stepped onto the tarmac, then he started towards him in a rush. Sherlock, having made the same decision as John, hurried to meet him.

When they came together, they greeted one another with a kiss, John's face upturned and lips parted. Sherlock cupped his face and kissed him greedily. In the distance, Mycroft turned his back to give them a modicum of privacy, a small smile on his face. It was about time they acknowledged how they felt about each other and now they would have time to do something about it.


End file.
